Sara Shepard - Toxic

She pushed forward, ignoring the frenzied fear pulsing through her. More floorboards creaked as she peeked around the corner. When she saw lumpy shapes in the middle of the room, she let out a tiny scream—but as she moved closer, she realized that it was only a dead rat . . . and a crumpled-up dress.

She ran to the dress and picked it up, holding it away from her body. The fabric smelled powerfully of vanilla, and it, too, was covered in blood. Parts of it were still damp, maybe with blood.

“Guys,” she called, holding the dress by two fingers. “Come here.”

Everyone thundered up the steps and gathered in the room. “Look,” Aria whispered, shaking the dress side to side.

Emily clapped a hand over her mouth. “Was that Ali’s?”

“That’s what I’m thinking,” Aria said. “Maybe she had it on while she . . . you know . . . did whatever she did down there.” She pointed to the floor. “This could have all kinds of DNA on it. Hair, skin cells, maybe even Ali’s blood, too. Everything the cops need, right?”

“Great,” Hanna whispered excitedly. “Let’s take it to the cops and get the hell out of here.”

Creak .

Aria’s heart jumped into her throat, and she reached for Emily’s hand. It sounded like a window opening. Please let it be the wind , she willed. But then she heard footsteps across the floor.

Everyone skittered to the back of the room and huddled together. Aria fumbled for her phone in her pocket. The surveillance cameras were on the screen, but the images showed nothing on the porch and no figures in the yard. The last view, the one that would show whoever was downstairs, still displayed that maddening loop.

A glugging sound followed. Aria stared at the others. Gasoline? she mouthed. Was Ali going to torch this place with them in it, like she’d meant to do in the Poconos? But then a scent filled her nostrils. It smelled nothing like gasoline at all.

It smelled like bleach .

Another creak sounded, then a small pffft of a window closing. Everyone remained very still for what seemed like hours. Finally, Aria tiptoed to the doorway and peered over the railing. The room was empty, but the stench of bleach was overpowering.

Someone had moved around the furniture in the room. The blood on the floor and the table had disappeared. The mop and the bucket were gone, too. It looked like someone had come in, dumped a bunch of bleach everywhere, and tried to clean up.

But clean up what ?

She turned back to her friends, her instincts urging her to run, now . “We have to get out of here.”

Everyone scrambled into action. Aria grabbed the soggy dress, sidestepped the rat, and thundered down the stairs as quickly as she could. Emily lunged for the front door, pulling it open and tumbling outside. As Aria and the others followed, no explosions sounded behind them. No figures shot out from the trees to attack them.

They sprinted toward the road as fast as they could. Aria had never been so grateful to see Hanna’s car on the shoulder. They hurried inside, and Hanna locked the doors and started the engine. When Aria breathed in, all she could smell was bleach. It had soaked into their skin and clothes. She could taste it, even, on her tongue.

As they pulled away, Aria swiveled around and stared out the back window. The road was dark and desolate. Even if someone was there, she wouldn’t be able to see who it might be.

Beep . Aria looked at her phone. Byron was calling, but she let it go to voice mail. How could she answer and not sound completely freaked?

Then she looked at her texts. There were four from Byron. Several from Harrison, too, replying that he was going to leave the party since he couldn’t find her anywhere. Then one from Ella, who hadn’t even attended the party: Your father called me. Where are you? Call me as soon as you get this .

When she looked around, the other girls were looking at their phones, too. “Shit,” Spencer whispered. “My mom’s pissed .” Hanna chewed on her bottom lip, glancing at her screen as she drove. Only Emily stared straight ahead, her hands folded in her lap. Tears were rolling silently down her cheeks.

“What just happened ?” she whispered. “Was that Ali? Why didn’t we ambush her? I should have done something.”

Aria patted her hand. “No, you shouldn’t have. We had no idea what she was doing down there. And she could have had a gun, Em. We did the right thing by staying put.”

“But what was she doing?” Emily cried. “What was with all the bleach?” She looked around at the others. “Did she kill someone in that house?”

“ Someone killed someone,” Aria said slowly. She stared at the dress in her hands. Maybe she was imagining things, but it still seemed sort of warm, as if the heat from Ali’s body hadn’t left it yet.

She swallowed hard, suddenly realizing what they needed to do. She pulled out her phone and unlocked the screen. Emily watched her carefully, then breathed in. “What are you doing?”

“I think we need to call the police,” Aria said.

Emily held Aria’s gaze, but she didn’t protest. It was the right thing to do. Whatever they’d witnessed was beyond their control. And even if it wasn’t Ali who’d killed someone in there—which Aria highly doubted— someone had.

Emily suggested the girls all sleep together at her place, since no one wanted to go home alone. They scampered into her garage as Emily opened the door to the house. The room was silent and dark, the lights and the TV off. The faint scent of a blown-out candle lingered in the air.

“You have some explaining to do.”

Everyone screamed. A light flicked on. Emily’s parents sat in the loveseat in the corner. Her dad was still in a suit, her mom still in her flowered dress and heels from the Rosewood Rallies party. Mrs. Fields’s nose and eyes were red, like she’d been crying.

Emily lowered her eyes. Her friends had all handled their situations with their families on the drive home. Emily knew that calling her parents would have been the right thing to do, too, but somehow she couldn’t will her finger muscles to dial their number. Her mind was too distracted, her thoughts still on Ali and the pool house and whatever had happened.

Mrs. Fields rushed over to her and took Emily by the shoulders. “Where have you been ?”

“We . . .” Emily shrugged and shook her head. She had no idea what to say. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have just left the party without telling you.”

“Sorry?” Mrs. Fields’s eyes boggled. “You disappear, and all you can say is you’re sorry? You weren’t picking up your phone, you weren’t here. . . . We feared the worst.”

Emily’s father frowned deeply. “We were considering calling the police.”

“It’s my fault,” Spencer piped up, her voice cracking. “I gathered everyone together and asked that we get away for a few moments. We all felt kind of traumatized being at that front table, everyone looking at us—it brought back some tough memories. We grabbed a bite to eat. That’s it.”

Emily lookd at Spencer gratefully. It was the same story the other girls had told their parents, but she was astonished at how Spencer could lie so expertly to her mom’s face. It was kind of the truth, except for the eating part. They had been traumatized. Just for different reasons.

Mr. and Mrs. Fields exchanged a glance. Mrs. Fields looked like she was going to start crying again. “We’re just so concerned,” she scolded Emily. “You’ve been so . . . troubled lately. All those things you said about causing those bruises on your neck yourself. And you’ve been spending so much time in your room. I know you’ve been sleeping in your closet instead of your bed. And I’ve heard you crying. . . .”